


four: in trouble

by wordtheef



Series: thirteen ways of looking at a Lannister [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends With Benefits, Fuckbuddies, Fucking, Gratuitous Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Woman on Top, accidental emotions, poor jaime, so much sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 13:28:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20258851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordtheef/pseuds/wordtheef





	four: in trouble

This time when Brienne comes to his tent, Jaime realizes he is is trouble.

They’re kissing in silence, they never did need to speak about these things and he finds he prefers the quiet. Without words he can’t say too much. Without language, she cannot pretend to misunderstand.

A press on the thigh means _open_. Her back arching means _yes__ more._ His hand knotting in her hair means _swallow_.

And it’s a bit of a game, isn’t it? Learning each other’s eyes, learning what a wet mouth or a slow languid smile might mean.

He watches her pupils fly open when they’re sparring in the same way they do here when she’s beneath him and so wet, so ready, he can barely stay inside her, swollen as he is. When she disarms him on the practice field he feels the same hot rush and ache, he wants to push back, get between her legs, make her surrender in whatever way it happens.

She’s so good at this. So _good_. He wasn’t her first and he won’t be her last but for now, just now, she is his: teasing with just her mouth on his mouth, smacking away his hand when he touches her, greedy greedy, he wants so much

— her teeth on his jaw, on his lips, on the hollow of his throat; her hands pull up his shirt; her hips rub against him so he makes a sound that in any other context would be shameful. He’s already uncomfortable in his clothes and _gods_ she smells good tastes good feels good, he jerks her up to kiss him again and licks into the corners of her lips where the taste of her is sharp and bright, Brienne.

She unties his trousers and he swears at her and she laughs, undressing herself as fast as she’s taking off his clothes, his one remaining hand isn’t much use when he’s this stupid with lust

she pushes him down on the carpet — oh, is that how it is tonight? — stroking him light and slow while his hips jerk and jump, begging.

She licks her palm and rubs it over him, gives her fingers to him to suck on and swallow down while her other hand holds down his chest, keeping his back flat as his cock strains up. _Please_.

She’s smug, not paying attention, and he strokes her cunt — it’s open, ready

and she laughs again. Kisses him, one hand on his cock, so slow.

She takes him slow. Holding on to his hand for leverage, her legs around his waist, fitting him inside her — careful careful and _slow_, Brienne

til she’s sitting down all the way on him and her eyes are shut, breath hard, her chest flushed pink and mouth so red.

He touches her mouth. There. I’ve loved you there. I’ve been inside you there, hot and sweet and so good.

She moves a little. He digs his hand into her hip and wishes again that he had another one — to tease her with, maybe. Make her body tighten up unforgivably hard.

He stretches up and catches her nipple before she can react, and _yes_ it’s what he wants but not enough, he’d like to bite down, suck it firm and taut, lick at the end with his fingers on her cunt til she’s crying under him

but that isn’t tonight. She rises up, leaning forward, giving him more of her breast at the same moment his cock comes out of her and he moans about it, she’s smiling at him

_please_

she lowers herself again, up and down and forward a bit like she’s riding him, oh your hips, Brienne

it’s all heat and flesh, there’s no more question of who she belongs with, who she belongs to; this is more certain than any ritual in a sept or a godswood, this is — what he’s been afraid of —

love.

She comes hard and tight and brings him with her, falling together.

He doesn’t realize she’s moved off him until she lays on the rug too, pinkly glowing. Perfect, she is perfect, how can he ruin all this by being _in love? _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck 

So he rolls on his side. Says “Will I see you tomorrow?” into her ear.

Brienne shakes her head and gets up; he cannot read her eyes. “Tonight is the last of this for awhile. Lady Sansa found news of her sister — Arya’s with the Hound.”

Fear reaches into his chest. “You can’t mean to fight him.”

“I mean to get back Lady Arya,” she says. Her tone is a warning.

“You’ll be killed.”

She’s dressing already, head down as she finishes. “I’d appreciate your support in this,” she says. “But I will find her, no matter what you say.”

“Make sure you come back.”

She looks at him, a long cool gaze. “You make sure I don’t want to stay gone.”

He can’t answer back; his mouth is full of ashes. There’s nothing to say.

The tent closes and she ties it shut, herself on the wrong side, and _Fuck,_ he thinks.

Fuck.

He is in so much trouble here.


End file.
